A Consulting Detective, a Nurse, and a Housekeeper
by storylover18
Summary: When John falls ill, Sherlock and Mary argue over who has the right to take care of him. When this gets too much for John, he goes somewhere quiet to get some much needed TLC. Set after TSoT but before HLV.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.**

**Hello everyone! Finally, I'm able to post some new material … this is set after the wedding but before **_**His Last Vow**_**, which I haven't seen (although I know what happens so please disregard the slightly OOC nature of the characters and their interactions in this). I hope you enjoy! **

Sherlock was pacing in front of the smiley face wall, his dressing gown billowing behind him. He was thinking about a pending case – it hadn't happened yet but Sherlock knew that it was only a matter of time before it did – but something felt wrong.

"Mrs. Hudson!"

A moment later, the older woman appeared in his door.

"What have you done?" Sherlock demanded.

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a frown.

"The flat. It's different, something is off."

Mrs. Hudson raised an eyebrow.

"I haven't done anything."

"You must have. Did you move something? Break something?"

"Of course not, you know you never let me touch your things. Why would you ask such a thing?"

Sherlock huffed.

"Because I can't _think_!" he exploded. "Something is wrong, something's missing."

Mrs. Hudson stepped into the room and saw the map of papers and strings on her wall – she sighed, though she was used to the marks and at this point was thankful that they were just push pins and not bullet holes.

"Ugh!" Sherlock exclaimed. "I can't think, why will this not _work_?!"

Mrs. Hudson sighed.

"Perhaps you should give John a call."

Sherlock stopped short and slowly turned around to face her.

"What did you say?"

"You should call John?" Mrs. Hudson repeated, asking rather than telling. Sherlock straightened and tilted his head, staring at the wall.

"Of course!" he exclaimed suddenly, making his 'housekeeper' jump. "Mrs. Hudson, when you're not annoying, you're a saint."

"Thank you," Mrs. Hudson answered dryly as Sherlock pulled out his mobile.

[Sent 15:35] Baker Street. Case. SH

[Sent 15:37] Important. SH

[Sent 15:39] REALLY important. SH

[Sent 15:41] John. SH

[Sent 15:43] If you're not going to come, you could at least tell me. SH

Mrs. Hudson had moved into the kitchen to clean up last night's cooking and jumped when Sherlock let out another non-verbal exclamation.

"What is it now?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a sigh.

"John," Sherlock said, pulling on his coat. "He's annoying me."

Sherlock didn't say anything else as he left Baker Street and got a cab to John and Mary's flat. He continued to bombard John's mobile with texts while in the taxi but he knocked on the front door rather than barge right in. One time he'd done that and caught John and Mary in an intimate position – Sherlock didn't really see the problem but John flew off the handle (quite over-reacting, Sherlock thought) – and now John insisted he always knock.

The detective waited impatiently at the door until Mary finally appeared.

"You weren't shagging again, were you?" Sherlock asked dryly, pushing past her.

"Nice to see you, too," Mary replied, closing the door.

"Where's John? He's not answering my texts."

"He's ill."

Sherlock scoffed.

"John, ill? He hasn't been ill the entire time I've known him. You must be mistaken."

He strode through their sitting room, trailed by Mary.

"I'm not," Mary said with an amused smile.

"Must be," Sherlock repeated, pushing the bedroom door open. "John, your wife is telling me the most ridiculous thing, clearly a lie to cover up whatever you and she were doing - "

Sherlock stopped midsentence once he was a few steps into the bedroom. John was in bed, paradoxically simultaneously pale and flushed. He smiled weakly and held up a hand in greeting.

"What's wrong with you?" Sherlock asked bluntly. "I've seen corpses that look better."

Mary, who had followed Sherlock into the room, answered.

"I told you, he's ill."

"You're never ill."

"Apparently not true," John croaked and he flinched as he spoke. Sore throat, Sherlock deduced.

"Clearly." He said shortly, taking off his coat and blazer and tossing them on the chair in the corner. He rolled up his sleeves.

"What do you think you're doing?" Mary asked, a half-eaten bowl of now cold soup in her hands.

"Caring for him, of course," Sherlock said as though this was obvious. "I need his help so I need to get him better."

"What do you think I'm doing?" Mary exclaimed.

"You're clearly not doing a very good job," Sherlock said, going to John's side of the bed and picking up the thermometer on the edge of the bed and putting it into John's mouth.

Mary raised an eyebrow at John, who looked rather uncomfortable by the row. Sherlock had picked up his wrist and was checking John's pulse.

"I was doing just fine," Mary said. "There's not a lot to do for flu to being with."

"Shouldn't you be avoiding him for the sake of the baby?"

"I'm fine."

"He's clearly contagious, you don't want to get sick. You're already considered high risk by the WHO guidelines for influenza."

"I work at a clinic," Mary replied. "I'm exposed to all sorts of things every day."  
>"Can't be too careful."<p>

Mary merely rolled her eyes and went into the kitchen to deal with the discarded meal.

"I thought she'd never leave," Sherlock said cheerfully, dropping John's wrist. With the thermometer still taking the reading, Sherlock felt John's glands in his neck, which he found to be horribly swollen. The device signalled its end and Sherlock glanced at it.

"You're aware that you have a low grade fever?" Sherlock said and John nodded.

"Yes," he answered with a sigh. "What was it?"

"Thirty eight point six." Sherlock answered.

"Point two degrees higher than this morning."

"Which makes sense," Sherlock replied. "Temperatures normally rise mid to late afternoon. How do you not know that?"

"I didn't say I didn't," John mumbled and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Nauseous?"

"Queasy," John answered. "Not hungry."

"Congestion?"

"Slight."

"Dizziness?"

"Yes. And light-headed."

"Medicine given?"

"Two extra strength cold and flu tablets every three hours."

"Effective?"

"Minimally."

"Hydration?"

"As much as I can," John said with a sigh.

"Resting?"

"Hard to do much else when I can't even get out of bed."

"I'd say it's a touch of flu." Sherlock announced.

"I could have told you that," Mary said, coming in again. "He's been sick for a day and a half now. The most severe symptoms will start to clear up in the next day or two."  
>She smiled sympathetically at John, who sighed again.<p>

"Why did you not call me?" Sherlock asked, looking down at John.

"Because he has me," Mary said. "I'm a nurse, after all. I think I can handle a simple case of flu."

"Don't be ridiculous. Having you hover over him would annoy John to no end."

"Is that so?" Mary asked, sounding amused.

"Of course it is," Sherlock said. "But he's too nice to say that to your face so I'll say it for him."

Mary frowned slightly, glancing at John who shifted uncomfortably.

"Is that true, John?"

"'Course not," he mumbled, rolling over and closing his eyes as he pressed his face into the cool side of the pillow.

"Don't listen to him," Sherlock immediately said. "It must be the fever, he's delirious."

"No, he's not!" Mary exclaimed. "John, tell him!"

"Yes, John, do tell me that you'd rather your overprotective wife look after you than your best friend."

John coughed weakly.

"Can we not have this conversation?" he asked tiredly.

"Does that mean he's right?" Mary accused.

"Of course it does," Sherlock said coolly.

John squeezed his eyes closed tightly as he felt his stomach tighten uncomfortably.

"Sherlock, Mary, please," he mumbled. "This is not helping."

"Did you hear that?" Sherlock said to Mary. "It's not helping. Go knit or something."

"No!" Mary said indignantly. "You said you have a case, go work on that."

"I said I need his help, I didn't say I had a case," Sherlock corrected.

"_Please_," John moaned.

"Sherlock, you need to leave. He needs rest."

"I'm not stopping him from resting," Sherlock said.

"You're not helping him rest, either."

John instantly knew he was going to be sick and rather than making it to the toilet – he wouldn't have had time – he rolled over and threw up onto the floor due to the absence of a bin.

"Now look what you've done!" Mary exclaimed as John coughed and threw up again.

"John," Sherlock said fiercely. "Take deep breaths, you're alright."  
>John gasped for air, sitting up before falling back against his pillow and scrubbing his mouth with his hand. Mary came up next to Sherlock, reaching around him for the bottle of water on the bedside table.<p>

"Here Love," she said sympathetically. John shakily sat up and took the water. He sipped at it, coughing again and Sherlock reached out to take the bottle from him.

"You're alright," he told John before looking at Mary. "Could you clean up the floor?"

Mary gave him an annoyed glance.

"Don't think that I'm agreeing because you're right," she said. "But someone needs to clean the carpet and it won't be you."

"Of course it won't be," Sherlock said, looking back at John. He helped John take another sip and then lay down again.

"At least she's being useful now," Sherlock mentioned, straightening the bed coverings.

"Sherlock," John mumbled with a sigh. "She was doing fine."

"Well, now that I'm here, I'm going to get you up and about in no time flat."

John opened his eyes wearily.

"No experiments."

"Are you sure? I'm working on this compound that's designed to - "

"No." John said firmly as Mary came back with a bucket and cleaning supplies, donning rubber gloves.

"Excuse me," she said to Sherlock.

"I'll be right back," Sherlock said to John, stepping out of the way so Mary could get to the carpet. He left and Mary glanced up at John.

"Sorry about him, Love," she said sympathetically. "I'll do what I can to get rid of him."

John sighed.

"He's just concerned."

"Which is fine," Mary said. "But I'm your wife. Who can take care of you better than me?"

John didn't answer.

"Besides, I'm the one cleaning up your vomit. I don't see him doing that for you."

"Sorry about that," John mumbled.

"It's alright, you couldn't help it." Mary answered. "And I'm used to it."

A moment later, Mary stood up.

"There, all finished. Try to go to sleep."

John closed her eyes as she kissed his forehead and for a brief moment, John was alone in his bedroom. He sighed deeply, hoping he could fall asleep before either one came back.

His head hurt.

**So, what do you think? I have this amazing mental picture of Mary and Sherlock arguing over John … I don't think it's particularly realistic but it's cute nonetheless. Please review! Thanks =) **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.**

**Hi everyone! In the spirit of procrastination, here's another chapter for you! I hope you enjoy it and thank you, as always, for your support =) **

After two hours, John was feeling worse than he had been before Sherlock's arrival. This, of course, was the cause of endless arguments between Sherlock and Mary. Sherlock was concerned that John was getting worse – empirically, he was; his temperature had gone up a degree – while Mary was annoyed that Sherlock was constantly bugging John and not letting him sleep.

"Sherlock," Mary complained when she saw him lay his hand on John's cheek for the umpteenth time in half an hour. Mrs. Watson was standing in the doorway, arms crossed. John wearily opened his eyes and glanced at her before letting them slide closed again.

"Shh!" Sherlock hissed.

"Feeling his temperature every few minutes is not going to change anything and it's just going to keep waking him up."

"That would mean I was asleep," John murmured, not bothering to open his eyes again. Mary sighed, but went into the washroom and returned with a folded face cloth. She crawled across her side of the bed and gently pressed the compress to John's forehead, cheeks, and neck. Mary assumed that Sherlock's silence symbolized approval.

The detective _did_ approve of the action – he had been going to do it himself shortly – and was carefully watching John's face. Every time Mary pressed down, despite her efforts to be gentle, lines of pain appeared around John's eyes.

"Just let it rest," he advised. "The pressure isn't helping the headache."

Mary glanced up, an eyebrow raised.

"I'm barely touching him."

"But you _are_ touching him," Sherlock said. "And it's not helping his headache, which you would see if you just observed."

John cringed slightly, more from the phrase than the pressure building behind his eyes. This would mean another row, which meant he would not fall asleep in the next five minutes.

"I am observing," Mary countered. "And what I'm observing is that it's too crowded in here. Don't you have a case or something?"

"Nothing more pressing that John's."

"I'm not a case," John murmured.

"Yes, you are," both Mary and Sherlock replied and John sighed.

"That's the first thing you've agreed on," he muttered.

"Well, you are whether you like it or not," Mary said with a gentle laugh. "Not a police case, but a medical case."

"Are you implying that I'm not qualified to look after John's 'case'?" Sherlock asked. John cringed again.

"I'm sure you would do fine but he doesn't need two of us hovering over him. Given that I'm his wife and a _nurse_, it seems to me like I'd be the most qualified."

"Right," Sherlock said. "You, who has known him sixteen months and never looked after him when he's been sick, are better than me? I've been at his bedside on more than one occasion and I've known him longer."

"I'm married to him; I'm a bit more familiar with his body than you are." Mary said coolly.

"If you're referring to the fact you've had sex, that hardly makes you a more worthy candidate," Sherlock said. "So you know how he is in bed. Great, that's crucial information for treating flu. Given that I've seen him naked, we're on even playing fields in that regard so being married to him gives you no real advantage."

Mary raised an eyebrow.

"Do I want to know why he was naked?"

"He barged in on me in the bath," John murmured and Mary let out a rough laugh before biting her lip. Despite the fever, John felt his face turn red as he re-lived the moment.

"I needed a plaster and I didn't know John was in the bath," Sherlock said defensively. "And the door wasn't locked."

"I see," Mary said with a smile, glancing at John. Sherlock followed her gaze and rolled his eyes.

"For goodness sake, John, there's no need to blush. For the hundredth time, I didn't see anything I hadn't seen before. It's all natural and normal."

"And mine," John couldn't help but reply. He gave a deep, chesty cough that made both Mary and Sherlock frown. They could hear the cough rattling deep in his lungs.

"Here," Sherlock said, unscrewing the bottle of water. "Drink, if you can."

Mary helped John sit up slightly and take a sip before easing him down again.

"You need to get some sleep," she murmured, positioning the compress. John sighed – he _wanted_ to but until these two left, he knew it was a hopeless goal.

"Are you hungry?" Sherlock asked and John shook his head.

"No."

"Can I get you anything?"

"Some peace and quiet would be ideal."

Mary looked pointedly at Sherlock.

"That means you, too," John said to Mary. Mrs. Watson looked down at her husband with a slight look of hurt on her face before kissing his temple.

"Of course, Love, whatever you say."

She moved off the bed and she and Sherlock left the bedroom, Mary closing the door behind her.

"Way to go," she scolded Sherlock. "Now we've both been kicked out. If you had just left earlier, at least one of us could be in there still."

"Why should it have been me who had to leave?" Sherlock asked, going into the kitchen and putting the kettle on. "Tea?"

"Because you're not the one who lives here … and you're offering _me my_ tea!" Mary exclaimed, following Sherlock into the kitchen.

"Do you want a cup?" Sherlock asked again and Mary sighed, rubbing her temples.

"Yes, please. And paracetamol."

Sherlock frowned over his two cups.

"You'd better not be getting ill as well. I won't nurse both you and John."

"I'm not ill, I'm annoyed!" Mary replied, stalking out to the sitting room. If Sherlock was going to offer Mary her own tea, he could at least bring it to her.

* * *

><p>John was grateful when both Sherlock and Mary left the bedroom. His forehead was throbbing and his eyes aching due to the building pressure; his skin was hot and stiff and aching; his throat was dry and sore; he didn't feel like he could move a muscle without being in pain, which suited his queasy stomach just fine.<p>

John closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep but instead found himself thinking about the arguments Sherlock and Mary had been having. It was an awkward position to be … his wife and best friend got on quite well (for which John was infinitely grateful) but when they butt heads, they really went at it. Of course, and not surprisingly, he was at the root of their problem.

He didn't want to take sides but their arguments were each convincing and simultaneously weak.

Yes, he was married to Mary. They shared a bond that he didn't have with Sherlock – thankfully. But it was a simple case of flu, something that you didn't need to have a whole lot of experience or training to be able to deal with. As long as someone was holding the bucket, John had to do the rest. Plus, though he would never say it, Mary had a tendency to hover when she was worried about John. It was endearing for the first while and then it became irritating.

However, Sherlock wasn't all roses, either. His arguments rested on the premise of knowing John longer and having taken care of him before. That, he thought, was a bit of a stretch. Yes, John had gotten sick while living at Baker Street and yes, _technically_ Sherlock had taken care of him … to the extent that standing next to his bed, a half-eaten piece of pizza in his hand and asking if he was alright while John projectile vomited was taking care of him. The doctor was actually surprised at the level of care he was receiving from Sherlock now as past experiences had demonstrated Sherlock's nursing skills were minimal.

John sighed again. This was complicated and had the potential to become a real problem for all three of them. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come.

* * *

><p>Three hours later, mid-afternoon, John has a rather violent awakening. He'd finally managed to fall asleep but woke up and barely had time to sit up before throwing up. To say it had been a little would be an understatement; no, this was literally everywhere and more vomit than John would've guessed his stomach could produce.<p>

A moment later, the door opened and Mary and Sherlock came rushing in.

"John!" Mary exclaimed, immediately going for a fresh face cloth while Sherlock picked his way around the splattering to the edge of the bed. He handed John the bin but stayed silently.

"What happened?" Mary asked as she, like Sherlock, moved carefully closer to John. She wiped down his mouth.

"Don't know," John murmured, hugging the bin and resting his forehead on its edge. "I was sleeping."

"Oh, Love," Mary said with a sigh. "It's alright. Do you feel like you're going to be sick again?"

John waited a minute before replying.

"I don't think so."

"A bath, then?"

John nodded and Sherlock wordlessly went to their bathroom and John could hear the water running. He felt Mary press a hand to his forehead.

"Not too hot, Sherlock," she called. "He's burning up."

John _hated_ this. He hated being a patient when he was supposed to be a doctor, he hated being so reliant on other people, and he hated being taken care of like a child.

"Can you walk?" Sherlock asked, returning to the bedroom. John wasn't sure on this front and said so.

"Well, given that the floor is rather covered in sick, maybe slide to the end of the bed," Mary suggested "And we'll go from there."

John nodded and let Mary take the bin, though she kept it close. He untangled himself from the sheets and then slowly scooted down the bed till his feet were resting on the floor. He shivered – it was cold.

"Here," Sherlock said, offering his hand. John gratefully took and slowly stood up. He felt dizzy but after a moment, was confident enough to walk into the bathroom. Goosebumps appeared on his arms when his feet touched the tile floor. Mary had followed them into the bathroom and set the bin on the closed toilet seat cover.

"Why don't you go clean up and I'll get him into the bath?" Sherlock suggested, having observed there was far less vomit on John than on the bed and floor.

"I don't think so," Mary said. "He's my husband. I'll get him into the bath. You can change the sheets and clean the floor."

"We've been over this; I've seen him naked before."

"And he didn't like it."

"Well, you're his wife so you should be the one to clean up after him."

Mary raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think so."

John was getting dizzy standing there and the smell of vomit was starting to get to him.

"Hey!" he exclaimed suddenly – and weakly. "I'm right here, you know, and while I appreciate both of your help, I think I should just do this on my own."

"John," Mary started but was interrupted by Sherlock.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"No, I mean it!" John exclaimed. "You two have been bickering all day and it's done nothing to help. I'm a doctor, which makes me the most qualified to treat a simple case of flu, and I know my body better than either of you. I don't care who cleans up out there – if no one does, I will. It's my mess – but I am going to take a bath."

"John," Mary said again, touching his shoulder. John pulled away.

"No, please, leave. Both of you."

Mary sighed and turned to leave but Sherlock stayed put.

"John," he began but John frowned at him.

"You as well. Go."

Sherlock wordlessly left the room, pulling the door closed behind him and John sighed, sinking onto the edge of the tub. He was dizzy and exhausted but it was better to do this by himself than have to listen to those two go at it again.

Painstakingly, John stripped down and then got into the luke-warm bath, closing his eyes once he was in.

**Reviews are always appreciated! Thanks =) **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.**

**I know it has been **_**way**_** too long since I updated this story … sorry about that. The excuse, I'm afraid, is rather tired and used. I knew where the story needed to go but I didn't know how to get it there. And then, all of a sudden, light bulb moment! Gosh, I love that feeling. I hope you enjoy reading about what happens to poor John. **

Mary was pacing outside of the bathroom door while Sherlock sat stoically on the edge of the freshly made bed (made by Mary, that was).

"Would you relax?" he asked with a roll of his eyes.

"No," Mary snapped. "My husband is in there and he's in no condition to be bathing by himself."

She felt her face turn red as Sherlock's eyebrow went up fractionally.

"Shut up." She snapped and returned to her pacing. Sherlock sighed.

"He'll be fine, he's a doctor. He knows what he's doing."

"Then why are you here?" Mary asked, glancing worriedly at the door.

"Because I'm his friend."

"And I'm his wife. Wife trumps friend."

"Normally I'd agree but in this instance, I have a bit more experience than you."

"Not that again," Mary groaned, looking up at the ceiling.

"But it's _true_."

"No. It's. Not." Mary said, her lips in a tight line.

"Yes, it is. You're living in denial."

"Denial, me?"

"Yes, you."

"I don't know what to do with you anymore, Sherlock!" Mary exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. "I'm sick of you trying to push your way into this."

Sherlock felt, somewhere deep inside, a slight pang of hurt. It was something Mrs. Hudson had said on the day of the wedding and he'd scoffed at. However, the as the day progressed, Sherlock realized all too clearly what she had meant.

Who leaves a wedding early?

The best friend, of course. They left early to slink into a corner and mourn their loss.

And now Mary was saying he was pushing his way into this – he was trying to be considerate, kind even, and he was being too forceful? How was he expected to be John's best friend when his wife never gave him any time to do it? This is what friends did … wasn't it?

Seconds later, that pang of hurt was replaced with a pang of determination and he gave an unemotional stare at Mary. Though he didn't give a verbal answer, his actions spoke loudly. He wasn't going anywhere.

Mary made a sort of guttural noise.

"You're impossible," she said. "I'm going for a walk."

With that, she stalked out of the room. Sherlock smiled to himself when he heard the door slam and he stood, knocking on the bathroom door.

"John, are you okay?"

"Mhmm." was John's reply. He had almost been asleep when he heard Mary yelling and he had also heard the door slam, which he knew couldn't be good.

"You should probably come out now," Sherlock called. "The heat's not good on your fever."

John sighed, knowing Sherlock was right.

"I'll be there in a minute," he called back, coughing afterward. He sighed again before pulling himself out of the water, goose bumps appearing as the cold air met him.

With shaky legs, John wrapped his dressing gown around himself and went back to the bedroom. Sherlock watched him stagger towards the bureau.

"Mary's gone for a walk."

"I heard."

"How do you feel?"

"Exhausted."

"Hmm," Sherlock said, pursing his lips. "Get dressed, I'll make us some tea."

He stood up and left the room. John, grateful for the quiet, proceeded to get dressed but not before texting Lestrade.

[sent 15:45] Get Sherlock a case. NOW.

[received 15:45] Why? Is everything alright?

[sent 15:46] Please, Greg. I'll explain later over drinks – my treat.

John hoped tempting the DI with a free beer or two would encourage him to act quickly. Sure enough, a moment later a text came through with confirmation that Sherlock would soon be getting a case and John sighed happily, pulling a shirt on over his head before crawling back into bed.

Sherlock came into the room a few moments later, a tea tray with cups and a plate of biscuits on it. He'd just set it on Mary's side of the bed when his mobile vibrated. He glanced at it, frowning.

"What's wrong?" John asked in a tired voice.

"Nothing." Sherlock said. "Not important."

He put his mobile back in his pocket and held out the tea cup to John.

"Who was it?" John asked, taking the cup.

"Lestrade. Something about a case."

"A case?" John asked, trying to look interested. "Anything good?"

"Double murder in the East End."

"So why not go? Sounds right up your alley."

"I'm not leaving you," Sherlock said, sipping his own tea. "Especially now that I've finally gotten rid of Mary."

"Sherlock, don't talk about her like that."

"Sorry." Sherlock said, not sounding sorry at all. John sighed.

"You should go," John repeated. "I'm just going to go to sleep. You'll probably be able to solve it and be back within an hour. Lestrade was saying just the other week how much you've been helping him lately – he's swamped and you solve cases quickly."

Sherlock didn't reply.

"Please, Sherlock?" John asked. "I know you want to."

Sherlock still didn't answer.

"Can you get me some applesauce?" John asked suddenly.

"Applesauce?"

"Yeah, it's good for an upset stomach; one of the four foods in the BRAT diet."

"The what?"

"The BRAT diet, it stands for bananas, rice, applesauce, and toast. All bland foods that are easy to eat."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but proceeded to leave the room again.

[sent 15:52] Send a picture and there's fish and chips in it as well. Convince him.

Sherlock returned with a bowl and handed it to John, who recognized a small flaw in this plan. Now that he had it, he actually had to try and eat it. Determined, John swallowed the first spoonful and Sherlock's mobile vibrated again.

"Lestrade again?"

"Yes."

Sherlock opened the picture and frowned.

"Interesting …" his voice trailed off and John knew then that the ploy had worked.

"You should go," John said for the third time. "And while you're out, can you pick up some rice and bananas?"

Sherlock glanced up at John.

"I'm not your wife," he said, standing. "Mary can get them. I'll text her from the cab … you're sure you'll be okay?"

John nodded.

"I'll be fine. I'm going to sleep."

"Text me if anything changes."

"Absolutely anything and you'll know." John promised.

"And I'll be back later to check on you."

John nodded.

"Good luck."

"I don't believe in luck, you know that. Besides, I don't _need_ luck."

John subtly rolled his eyes.

"Fine, enjoy then."

"Plan to."

Sherlock tightened his scarf and left. John heard the front door close and he let out a tremendous sigh of relief. He put the applesauce down and closed his eyes, hoping that he wouldn't be sick anytime soon. His wish was in vain and soon John found himself dry heaving painfully. As much as he didn't want to admit it, John knew he shouldn't be alone in his condition but he didn't want to ask Mary or Sherlock to come back to him, lest the arguments start all over. So, he called the only other person he could think of: Mrs. Hudson.

* * *

><p>His old landlady was at the flat as quickly as John knew she would be. The minute he'd opened the door, she'd made a *tsk* noise and ushered him back to bed. John let her take his temperature and give him medicine and she tucked the blankets around him, turned the light off, and closed the door. Feeling pleased by her approach, the doctor closed his eyes and fell asleep.<p>

* * *

><p>Mary and Sherlock arrived home around the same time – the crime scene had been a ridiculously easy deduction and Mary had run into a friend on her walk, which prolonged her absence.<p>

"Where were you?" Mary greeted Sherlock coldly.

"Case."

"And you just left John?"

"He said I should."

"And you listened? Did you not see how sick he was? What were you thinking, leaving him alone?"

"I was thinking that he was a grown man and could manage to sleep by himself."

"And yet you felt the need to come back, not to mention hover when I had everything under control!"

Mary unlocked the door and barged in, Sherlock following.

"Did you pick up groceries?" Sherlock asked, ignoring Mary's previous statement. "I sent you a text."

"No!" Mary exclaimed. "I did not. I sent you a text back telling you to pick up the groceries if John asked _you_ for them. You were so intent on helping I figured I'd let you help."

"I'm not his errand boy."

"Neither am I!"

"Will you two pipe down?" Mrs. Hudson met them at the junction between the entry way and the sitting room. "John is finally asleep and I'd like to keep it that way."

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock exclaimed.

"John called me, said he was ill. I came right over and found him in quite a state. I'm surprised you went out, Mary. He really shouldn't have been left alone."

Mary glared at Sherlock.

"No, he shouldn't have. I'll go check on him."

"Me, too." Sherlock said, taking a few steps towards the bedroom.

"No, you will not." Mary said firmly.

"Yes, I will."

"No one is going anywhere." Mrs. Hudson cut in. "I don't know what's going on between you two but I guarantee that it's not doing John any good."

"I completely agree, Mrs. Hudson," Mary said, moving forward again. "Sherlock has clearly overstepped his boundary and needs to learn that I'm John's wife, I can take care of him."

"And Mary needs to realize that sleeping with him doesn't mean she's the most qualified."

"I'm his wife. I know him best."

"I've known him longer. I fail to see how you can know him better than me."

"Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it's not there." Mary scoffed. "Excuse me, I'm going to check on John."

She took a few steps forward but was stopped by Mrs. Hudson's arm.

"No," Mrs. Hudson said firmly. "I'm going to take care of John until you two can figure out how to act like sensible adults."

"Not a chance - "

"Absolutely not - "

"I don't want to hear it," Mrs. Hudson interrupted. "Both of you, out, now."

She took each of them by an arm and led them to the door. Once they were outside, she locked the deadbolt. Feeling rather accomplished, Mrs. Hudson held her head high and went to make sure John was still sleeping.

**I know this feels slightly out of character but I had to get Mrs. Hudson in here somehow. I hope it worked as well as I wanted it to. Thanks, as always, for your support. Please review and I hope to have updates soon!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.**

**Hello, everyone! Thank you, as always, for the support. We'll cut to the chase straight away so for your reading pleasure, I present the next chapter. **

***Rating for this chapter goes up to K+ for mentions/implied sex **

Sherlock and Mary stared at the front door that had just been closed on them in stony silence before Sherlock snorted and walked away.

"Where do you think you're going?" Mary asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Home. Where else would I be going?"

"And that's all? You're not going to talk to me?"

"Nope."

Sherlock strode down the street, heading for the main road. Mary frowned before jogging to catch up with him.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"221B."

"No, you're not coming home with me. The whole point of leaving you on the doorstep was to get away from you."

"Well, thanks to you, I can't go into _my_ house so I'm going to _your_ house until we talk and figure this out. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson is qualified and all but I'd like to see my husband."

"Mrs. Hudson isn't a nurse."

"No, but she'll take care of John. She manages to keep you alive so John should be no problem."

"I do not need to be kept alive." Sherlock retorted. "She cleans, that's all."

"And cooks." Mary added. "Especially now that John's gone, though you've still lost weight."

"Have not."

"Have so." Mary shot back. "Don't think you're the only one who can spot details like that. I'm a trained nurse."

Sherlock ignored her (mostly because he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of being right but also because they'd reached the main road) and held up his hand for a passing taxi. It pulled to the curb and Sherlock got in. Mary followed, not giving Sherlock the chance to shut the door on her. He glared at her as she told the driver the address and then settled back to watch the busy streets.

To Sherlock's credit, he paid the taxi fare and unlocked the door, leaving it open for Mary after he passed through it. Mary followed him upstairs, though Sherlock immediately went to his bedroom and closed the door. The young woman didn't let it bother her and took off her coat before making herself a cup of tea.

While sipping it, an idea came to her. She retrieved her mobile from her coat and texted John.

[Sent 16:35] Are you alright? Mrs. Hudson locked Sherlock and me out until we can "behave."

She immediately got a text back, the same text Sherlock had gotten when he tried texting John as soon as he'd locked his bedroom door.

[Received 16:36] I've taken his mobile. John needs rest, not to be pestered by you two. Talk to Sherlock. Love Mrs. Hudson

Mary sighed and dropped her mobile onto the sofa before picking it up again, this time texting Sherlock.

[Sent 16:36] Did you get a text from Mrs. Hudson?

She heard Sherlock's feet hitting the floor and his bedroom door opened. He appeared in the sitting room a moment later, his dressing gown on his shoulders.

"We're in the same house, it's hardly necessary to communicate via text message."

"You're not communicating with me any other way." Mary said smartly, sipping her tea. "Kettle's boiled."

"Oh, offering me my own tea now? How quaint. Just another way you take what's mine and teased me with it."

Mary frowned as Sherlock picked up his violin and plucked its strings.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means, Mary? You're smart, I'm sure you can figure it out."

He put the violin to his chin and began playing scales.

"If you're talking about John - " Mary began and Sherlock stopped abruptly.

"Of course I'm talking about John. You don't _actually_ think I was talking about the tea, do you?"

"Sherlock," Mary said with a sigh. "I know that you're having a hard time adjusting to John not being here."

"John not being here isn't the problem." Sherlock muttered.

"Then what is?" Mary demanded. "Is it me?"

"Well done." Sherlock said dryly, striking up another tune.

"I don't understand, Sherlock. You seemed fine at the wedding; we even thought you were happy about the baby. Why the sudden change?"

"No change," Sherlock said. "Just an increased air of transparency."

Mary sighed.

"I don't understand." She repeated. Sherlock stopped again.

"For almost three years I lived without John. I watched him suffer as a result of my death. So imagine my surprise when I finally get back to London and find you on his arm and that stupid mustache! Karma is cruel but fair, Mary, it is a fact I've learned to accept. I left him and he left me."

"He didn't leave you!"

"Yes, he did. I came back and he had a job, a wife, a house, and he's going to have a child. I do not fit very well into that picture, Mary."

"Of course you do."

"No, I don't and it's better to just accept it and move on rather than draw it out."

"Sherlock, we want you to be in that picture."

"No, you don't."

"Of course we do. We were going to ask you to be the baby's godfather."

Sherlock had not been expecting that, though he recovered quickly enough.

"I'd be a rubbish choice. All I do is attract serial killers and that's hardly the kind of influence you want for your child."

"But you care about John and I think you care about me."

"I never said I didn't care. I simply said I don't fit into your new life. The two are completely independent of each other."

"Only if you make them." Mary replied.

"Well, I do, then." Sherlock snapped. "He doesn't need me as a best friend. You're by his side, you're enough for him."

"He has two sides, Sherlock. Your place is next to John as much as mine is."

Sherlock remained quiet and Mary continued.

"John's life has changed but he still talks about you and he misses you. He doesn't say so because he's trying to spare my feelings but I can see it."

"Then why are you pushing me away?"

"Me?" Mary repeated.

"Yes you. I came to see John today and found him ill. I was trying to help him and you kept pushing me away and saying it wasn't my place. If you and I are really on equal footings then you had no right to tell me that."

Mary sighed.

"I don't doubt your intentions, Sherlock, but …"

"But in reality, he still prefers you to me." Sherlock said bitterly.

"No!" Mary exclaimed. "At least …" She trailed off with a sigh. "Look, I am John's wife. When he's sick or hurting, it's my job to make him better."

"So what's my job?" Sherlock retorted and Mary smiled.

"To get him drunk for his bachelor party; to calm him down when he panics about having a baby; to get this baby into trouble John and I would never allow; if it's a girl, help John break the guy's face when he's hurts her. Relationships do not operate on measurable principles. The way John and I interact is very different from the way you interact with him … I hope so, at least. But John still needs you."

"But not right now."

"Maybe not right now in this particular circumstance."

Sherlock sighed.

"I suppose I overstepped the boundary." It was as close to apologizing as he was getting.

Mary sighed as well.

"You're not the only one who's guilty here," she said. "I became overprotective of him. Believe it or not, I felt threatened when you showed up and I had to defend my position."

"You have nothing to worry about. I promise I won't become his wife."

Mary laughed and Sherlock allowed a small smile.

"I think we both owe John an apology." Mary said and Sherlock nodded.

"Uh … is it alright if I come? I won't stay long."  
>"Of course it is," Mary said. "I'm sure he'll feel better after a good sleep and would probably like the company."<p>

"We can stop and pick up groceries on the way," Sherlock said, putting his violin down. Mary nodded.

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

><p>Mrs. Hudson was standing at the stove stirring a pot of soup when there was a knock on the door. She looked through the eyehole and saw Mary and Sherlock standing on the porch. She flicked the lock, opening the door.<p>

"Have you worked it out?" she greeted them and Mary nodded.

"We have," she said. "Thank you for knocking some sense into us."

Mrs. Hudson smiled broadly.

"You're welcome. That wasn't so bad, was it, Sherlock?"

"It wasn't utterly terrible." Sherlock said, pushing past her into the house. Mary rolled her eyes but Mrs. Hudson chuckled.

"How is John?" Sherlock asked, setting the groceries on the counter.

"He just woke up," Mrs. Hudson said. "I'm making him some soup."

"May we visit the patient?" Mary asked with a smile.

"Only if you promise not to yell. I'll be in soon with his supper."

"Promise." Mary said and this time Sherlock rolled his eyes but led the way to the bedroom. He knocked on the door and pushed it open unceremoniously.

John broke into a weak smile when he saw Sherlock and Mary were in the same room and not bickering … they even looked _happy_.

"Mrs. Hudson locked us out," Sherlock informed him.

"I know." John croaked. "I'm sorry about that but I just couldn't take it anymore."

"It's alright," Mary said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "We, uh, we're sorry for how we acted. It was childish and not fair to you."

John glanced up at Sherlock, who nodded confirmation. Mary proceeded to tell John about their conversation. Sherlock remained quiet, as he was not particularly proud about being so hostile towards Mary and John's relationship. John listened carefully and then sighed. He looked first at Sherlock.

"You," he said. "Have always been my best friend. You found me when I was alone and my life has never been the same for it. But Mary is right … there are things she can do for me that you, frankly, can't."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"But," John continued. "You will never lose your place in my life."

He glanced at Mary.

"Same goes for you," he said. "You are another one of my best friends … you're like Sherlock only you smell better, you're nicer to look at, and we can have sex."

Mary laughed and John smiled.

"All joking aside," he said. "I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you and our baby … or babies, if that's the case."

Mary smiled and kissed John's forehead.

"I love you," she murmured.

"Oo oo," Mrs. Hudson clucked from the doorway.

"Ah, Mrs. Hudson, right on time." Sherlock said. "These two were about to enter into some mushy, over-romanticized conversation."

Mary pulled away and stood so Mrs. Hudson could put the tray on John's lap.

"Thank you," he said, picking up a spoon.

"Not a problem," Mrs. Hudson said cheerily. "Now that Mary and Sherlock are back, I'll be on my way."

"I'll come," Sherlock said, catching Mary's eye. "Take good care of him."

Mary smiled.

"Always."

"Thanks for coming, Sherlock." John added.

"Uh huh," Sherlock said, doing up his coat. "Oh, and when you're better, I've got a case for us. Squirrel heads keep appearing at crime scenes. Lestrade is convinced there's a squirrel-obsessed murderer ravaging the East End."

"What do you think?"

"Not sure yet," Sherlock said cheerfully. "But it'll be fun."

"Fun." Mary echoed, shaking her head. "And this is why you have two best friends," she said to John.

"Alright, enough chattering," Mrs. Hudson cut in. "John, eat your soup and then get some sleep. Sherlock, let's go."

Mary laughed as Sherlock made a face but followed Mrs. Hudson out of the room. John and Mary heard the door close and Mary glanced at John.

"Eat," she said. "And I'll draw us a bath."

"Us?" John questioned.

"Don't get any ideas," she said smoothly. "It'll just help you relax."

She disappeared into the bathroom and John ate his soup, _so_ grateful he had two best friends. A squirrel-decapitating serial killer and a bath with his wife in the same day … even with the flu, John realized he was a very lucky man.

**I have to say some of the conversation between Sherlock and Mary was the product of an RPG **_**Cumberbatch Critter**_** and I did awhile back. None of the lines are verbatim but the idea was certainly drawn from there. **

**This, my friends, concludes **_**A Consulting Detective, a Nurse, and a Housekeeper**_**. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!**

**StoryLover18**


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